"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," Hagrid said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry."
Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.
"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."
-- Hagrid, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
*
Disclaimer: Consider this work of fan-fiction to be properly disclaimed. If any doubts persist on this matter, lawyers are referred to Chapter Eleven, and thence to Chapters Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, and (you guessed it!) One.
A/N: Yes, folks, I know this is even later than usual. But what can I say? I recently discovered that having a Real Life is actually a necessity, and (even more shocking), it requires a bit of time investment. But don't worry – I still have every intention of finishing this. Hopefully I'll have time to work on it regularly now that my schedule is settling down. Anyhow – here 'tis: the long-awaited meeting of Black and Potter!
As always, responses to questions and comments are down at the end of the chapter.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
NO HIGHER PRAISE:
CHAPTER TWELVE
He was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright.
"Harry... I as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me.... I'm to blame, I know it.... The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies... I realized what Peter must've done... what I'd done...."
~ Sirius Black, in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
* * * * *
"Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black –"
~ Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
* * *
Sirius had triple-checked the passage before he transformed into his human form, and he double-checked it again afterward, just to make sure. The door was locked from the outside, which led him to deduce that Madame Pomfrey or other unwanted personages were not lurking about inside. Still, he stared at the door for several minutes before laying a hand on it.
Finally, he pushed it open, just a crack, and peered around the edge. The room was one of the small, private chambers down in the drier parts of the dungeons – places where the students rarely had occasion to go, and the faculty little more. Flitwick, too academically interested in the layers of magic surrounding the unconscious man to worry about his identity, had suggested that they lock him up there, for safety, and Dumbledore had agreed. Fortunately, it seemed that they had not deemed a guard necessary. Yet.
The room was reassuringly empty, and Sirius crept inside. He spent several minutes shutting the door extremely quietly, and several more staring at the bed taking up the other end of the room. Dumbledore had transfigured a hideous orange couch (exiled to the chamber at some point in the fifties) into a nice four-poster bed with convenient curtains, in lieu of trying to set up a cot. The curtains were open.
Noiselessly, Sirius padded closer.
It was a bit of an effort to make himself actually look at the pale face on the plump white pillow, but he sternly marshaled his courage and did it.
It looked like James.
It looked a lot like James.
In fact, if he was making this decision solely on the basis of how this person looked, he would have to say that it was James.
Unfortunately, there were a few other criteria to be taken into consideration, such as whether or not James still had a soul, and whether or not he was going to start casting the killing curse right and left as soon as he got his hands on a wand.
Sirius continued to stare, vaguely astonished that he (James) looked so much like Harry. With their eyes shut, they could almost be identical, except, of course, for the scar and the difference in age … Speaking of which …
James was scarcely a day older than he had been the last time Sirius had seen him. October 30th, almost fourteen years ago.
He's young. Very young. Remus and I … are older now. We ought to have been allowed to grow middle-aged together, to watch Harry grow up. There should have been younger brothers and sisters. He shouldn't have had to die so young. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right.
Get a grip, Sirius. Even if it is him, things are never going to be the same again. We've all gone through too much, become too different. But …
Oh, God, let it be him.
Sirius stretched out his hand, feeling rather as if he was about to give a dementer a friendly handshake. This was it. This was going to be the decisive moment.
He touched James's shoulder, noted briefly that it was warm and felt normal enough, if a bit thin, and gave the sleeping man a light shake.
A moment later, he shook James again, a little harder. This time, he got a reaction. James's eyelids fluttered, and Sirius snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. The eyes opened slowly, and Sirius stared down at the familiar grey color, desperately trying to decide whether they looked colder, or deader, or mesmerized, or mad, or anything else that would suggest something wrong. It was hard to tell, but he was fairly sure that they were simply a bit bewildered.
James blinked hazily a few times, then squinted up at Sirius. "Harry?" he murmured questioningly.
Sirius didn't really think James's eyesight was quite that bad. "He's … sleeping."
The man blinked a few more times, then tried to push himself up on his elbows. "Where … ?"
"Hogwarts. He's fine." Sirius hesitated, watching (James?) the man gaze blankly at him. His heart flipped over nervously. He was so bloody young. Sirius felt as if it had been a hundred years since he had been that age. Azkaban tended to take the youth out of one with inhuman speed. And yet … staring at that familiar face, he could almost believe he himself was in his twenties again, standing by James's bedside after a less-than-successful Auror action. Fourteen years ago. Yesterday. "Harry's fine. Madame Pomfrey took care of his burns."
"Hogwarts," the man said slowly, wonder and bewilderment blending in his drowsy voice. "We're safe, then. But - how – what – what happened?" There was a pause, during which he turned his head from side to side in obvious quest of his glasses, then, as an afterthought, he added, "Who are you?"
Sirius's throat tightened painfully, and he clutched at the bedpost. "I –" Me. Sirius. Padfoot. Your best friend. You know, the one whose fault it is that you and Lily are dead? The words just wouldn't come out.
James's searching hand finally located the glasses, perched neatly beside the pillow. He slid them onto his nose with a faint sigh of relief, and looked up. His face instantly froze in a caricature of shock, and he bolted up into a sitting position so quickly that Sirius was almost afraid he would snap his spine.
He stared, pale and wild-eyed, his hair standing straight up in familiar, unruly tufts.
Sirius briefly considered a nonchalant grin and a casual, "Hey, Prongs," but abandoned the idea. He wasn't sure that Azkaban had left him much in the way of easily-summonable nonchalant grins.
"Sirius?" the man whispered, unblinking. "You – are you – you are, aren't you." He seemed about to say more, then shut his mouth tightly.
"Yes," Sirius finally said, and released his grip on the bedpost. "Er … how are you feeling?"
James was still staring at him, looking oddly heart-broken. "You … you look awful," he whispered.
Well, if James remembered him as he had been fourteen years before, Sirius thought, he was rather in for a shock. Azkaban didn't do much to make one look all bright and healthy and cheerful and young. "Tactful as always," he said, grinned awkwardly, then gave it up.
"Harry said –" James began, then stopped again. The conversation really wasn't proceeding very quickly. Sirius pasted what he hoped was an encouraging expression on his face, and James went on. "Harry said you –" He stopped again, then demanded in a burst, "What happened, Sirius? Was it really Peter?"
Sirius felt his teeth grit together angrily at the mere mention of that name. He could tell, from the shocked expression on James's face, that his rage was showing. "Yes," he snarled, and bit his tongue to keep from cursing the rat to hell.
James's face took on that peculiarly unhappy expression which, at Hogwarts, had always tended to make any females within the vicinity swoop forward to comfort him. He swallowed once or twice, took his glasses off, polished the left lens, then carefully replaced them. It was his typical got-to-keep-a-stiff-upper-lip routine, almost the same motions he had gone through when Sirius's parents had died, or when Remus had a particularly tough full moon. "You're sure?" he asked in a small, husky voice, sounding oddly like Harry. "Peter … I mean, it wasn't the Imperius, or anything?"
"NO, it was NOT,"
Sirius snapped, clenching his fists at his sides. "The dirty rat had been selling information
to Voldemort for a year before he – before he – before It.
And it's his filthy fault that Voldemort is
back now." There was more he could have
said, much more, but he choked it back, remembering that this was meant to be a
test, a way for him to find out whether this was James Potter or just some
Potter-ish doppelganger, not an opportunity for him
to deliver an eloquent speech on what Wormtail was
and what he would be once Sirius got his own hands on the rat's neck.
James was staring down at his own hands, quiet and still. After a moment he sighed, and looked up
again. There was pain in the grey eyes,
and Sirius's heart constricted. In one
way, it was heartening, since it meant James could have emotions, but …
somehow, he would have preferred it if James had been as angry at Wormtail as he himself was.
The rat deserved undying hatred.
"So it wasn't Remus," James said, looking up at Sirius's face as if searching for something. "Remus – it wasn't him. The spy, I mean."
"No," Sirius said quickly, feeling his cheeks reddening with shame. "I was wrong, dead wrong. It was never Moony. I –" And then, because he'd had little else to think about for twelve dark, cold years, and because he hadn't had any sleep for over twenty-four hours, and because it had been a stressful, exhausting day, and because it looked so much like James, the flood of words came tumbling out, hoarse and desperate. "I was a fool, a bloody, damned fool, and I should have known it couldn't be Remus and I should have known, and I'm sorry, Prongs, I'm sorry, I really am sorry, I never meant for that to happen, I'm so sorry. It was my fault, mine, I should have known, I should never have made you switch – I was scared, Prongs, afraid I wouldn't be strong enough, and I was scared I couldn't do it, couldn't keep you and Lily and Harry safe, and I thought he'd never go after Peter, but I should have known, and I should have kept better watch, and I should have gotten there sooner, and I should have caught Peter and wrung his neck and then Voldemort wouldn't be back now, and Harry could have grown up with somebody decent, and I – I – I – oh, God, Prongs, I'm so sorry – I'm to blame more than anyone else – I killed you, you and Lily, I did it, and I should be damned for it, and I - I shouldn't have been such an idiot as to think it was Remus, that was stupid, that was just unforgivable – I should have been braver, or quicker, or smarter, and Lily wouldn't be dead, and Harry wouldn't be an orphan, and you wouldn't be – wouldn't be … dead …"
He trailed off in a mire of confusion and misery, and found that he had somehow collapsed to sit on the floor, shuddering and pressing his hands to his eyes. With a bit of an effort, he looked back toward the bed, and found James staring blankly at him.
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered again, and the room went silent.
James kept staring at him, wide-eyed, blinking slowly behind the spectacles that didn't quite look like his old ones. His thin hands were twisting and untwisting the edge of the blanket. "You … you think it's your fault?" James – or the Not-James – asked finally, his words remote and dull. "Your fault?"
"And Wormtail's," growled Sirius, regaining a little control of himself and sitting up straight. "But … yes. I – I'm sorry." It sounded lame and inadequate, somehow. How did you convey to someone that you were sorry you'd killed them out of cowardice and gross stupidity? How did you apologize for robbing someone of their life and their family? You couldn't. You didn't often get a chance to apologize to someone who was already dead, but here the chance was … and he was blowing it. He couldn't remember all the things he had wanted to say, all the things he had said in Azkaban to the wraiths of his dead friends when they had appeared to his crazed imagination on nights of insanity. A simple 'sorry' was not sufficient.
Nothing would ever be sufficient.
He looked again, and James was shaking his head slowly, the movement sending the shadows flitting from one side of his gaunt face to the other. "No," he said, his voice ringing with the firm insistence of the Hogwarts days that Sirius remembered so well. "It was not your fault. Not." When James spoke like that, he meant to have his own way, come hell or high water. No talking him out of it when he brought out his I-Am-an-Arrogant-Prat-and-I-Will-Not-Be-Denied voice. No use at all.
Not that that realization had ever prevented Sirius from arguing before. "You don't really believe that," he said bitterly.
James blinked at him, still round-eyed and pale, then his eyes slid past Sirius's face, gazing into dark distances that only he could see. "I know whose fault it was," he said softly. "It wasn't yours. Not yours. Never yours. Harry said so. You're innocent. You didn't do anything. You're not to blame. It's not your fault. Not Peter's, either. Peter is – was – weak, not evil. Peter … Peter isn't strong like Remus and you. Peter isn't brave. It's not your fault and it's not Peter's fault. It's his fault, his and mine. Ours. Mine. Only ours. I'm to blame, I'm the fool, the coward, it was my fault, all mine. And his. Not yours. Not anyone else's. Mine…"
"James!" Sirius snapped, his voice loud and harsh in the small room. The flood of monotonous chanting had begun to unnerve him, especially since it was sheer nonsense. And the look in James's eyes … fear and unease crawled up his spine, and he scrambled to his feet. James was rubbing his hands across his face, head bent in a defeated position.
"Sorry," he muttered, replacing his glasses and blinking. "I don't know what got into me. I …" He trailed off dully and looked at the wall, shivering as if cold.
Sirius folded his arms, trying to remember why he had come in the first place. His confession and apology had done only a little to relieve the burning load of guilt in his chest, especially since James didn't seem to even take it seriously. Provided it was James, of course. That was still to be proved, wasn't it?
Sirius was not certain anymore. All those things Professor Dumbledore and Remus had said seemed distant and unimportant now, somehow irrelevant. Here, in front of him, was James, flesh and blood and spirit. Spells and possibilities and statistics and dark auras were trifles, silly trifles in the face of hard facts. It looked like Prongs, it talked like Prongs, it breathed like Prongs, it moved like Prongs, and Sirius's heart was telling him, loudly and vociferously, that it was Prongs. So maybe ...
"Er … James …" he began slowly, and James's dark head turned back toward him. Surprisingly, his face pulled into a wan smile.
"I didn't think I'd ever see any of you again," the Probably-James said, a wistful wonder in his voice. "I thought you were all dead, all that time. You and – and Peter, anyway, and I still thought Remus was … well, the traitor. I'm glad we were wrong. I'm very glad. I shouldn't ever have thought it was him. It was stupid. Lily never believed it. And he's still alive, too, Harry said, and well. It's been fourteen years, hasn't it? That's a very long time. I missed you all. I never thought … heavens, I don't think I'd gone as much as fourteen days without seeing at least one of you for a very long time before … before." He paused, still looking at Sirius as if searching for something, a lost and haunted stare.
"I thought Harry was dead. He's a great kid, isn't he? He's a lot like Lily, a great deal. His eyes look exactly like hers, only I suppose he's near-sighted, like I am. Lily might have been disappointed. She told me she didn't like her eyes, that she'd always wished they were blue. That was awfully foolish, because her eyes are beautiful. Were beautiful." He broke off, and something shadowy and frightened crept over his eyes.
A moment later he went on, now staring into the past again. "Do you remember in our Muggle Studies class, how the professor told us that Muggles who wanted to do healing studied things like anatomy about how the human body works? Muggles are crazy. Why would they want to do that? But they probably know what eyes are made of. I never thought about it before, you know, about what happens to people after they die, to their bodies, I mean. It's one of those things young, stupid, invincible Gryffindors don't need to think about. But Lily's eyes aren't gone after all, because Harry has them, and Harry's still alive." He stopped short again, shaking his head as if something hurt him. "Hair takes a very long time to rot, did you know that? Lily's hair was beautiful, so beautiful … I hoped she was alive, she and Harry, for the longest time. I thought she might have saved him and herself, and then I wouldn't have minded so much. But it isn't fair that I'm alive and she isn't, not when it was my fault. I loved her, and I killed her, and …" He halted for a fourth time, quivering. "It wasn't your fault, Sirius," he whispered. "It was mine."
Sirius found that he had completely forgotten whatever question it was that he had meant to ask. He stared at James's dimmed eyes, frantically searching his memory. Hadn't Remus said something about minds raised through the dark arts going mad? This wasn't like James at all. James never rambled. At least, not without an ulterior motive – not like that. And what was all that talk about hair and eyes and rotting?
"Are you – all right?" Sirius asked, almost timidly. James started, then looked at him as if he really saw him again. The darkness receded, leaving James's eyes as clear as they ever had been.
"I'm fine," James answered, his voice steady again. "I'm fine – well, as fine as could be expected. You're the one who looks like a – like a – like something the dog dragged in during the night. You look bloody awful. Are you sick?" Anxiety crept into his voice and face. "Harry wouldn't tell me how you were – at least, he said you were fine, but he isn't a very good liar yet. He said – he said they'd put you in Azkaban, even though you weren't the Secret Keeper," James finished in a rush. "It isn't true, is it? I mean, for twelve years? When you didn't even do anything? It – is it true?"
"Yeah." Sirius looked toward the bedposts, admiring their straight and shining smoothness. "Yeah, it's true. But you don't need to worry about that. It's over and done with."
He looked back in time to see James manifestly fail to take Sirius's injunction to heart. Anger and pain leapt into his eyes like hot fire, and his hands clenched on top of the blankets. "How?" he demanded, voice tight with fury. "What – idiot – incompetent – what bastard made that decision? What were they thinking? What was Dumbledore doing? Didn't anybody have any sense? There were dozens of people, hundreds of people who must have known you could never do anything like that! Dumbledore – McGonagall – everyone! I can't believe that they believed that you were the – that you would have – I mean, you're – you wouldn't ever have done that. Ever. Not ever. Those – crazy – probably Death Eaters – they ought to be thrown to the Dementers themselves!"
Now there was the James Potter that Sirius had known at Hogwarts. Always ready to work himself into a rage on behalf of a friend who had suffered an injustice. It had taken days to calm him down after he'd learned from Remus how people treated werewolves. Not that Sirius had done any of the calming down. In fact, he, Sirius, had proposed that they burn down the Ministry as a protest, and James had eagerly seconded him, but …
Sirius felt a grin spreading across his face. It widened, stretching into a genuine smile that felt strange on his facial muscles. Then he felt a laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside him – a place that he had thought Azkaban had long since ripped away. He chuckled. He laughed. He threw his head back and shouted with mirth, grabbing at the bedpost to keep his feet. He laughed until he was dizzy, laughed until he felt like crying, then had to stop to catch his breath. There were black spots darting across his vision, and he had a vague notion that he might be a bit short on oxygen.
When he could finally stand straight again, he saw that James was watching him with wide-eyed, open-mouthed concern. "P-Padfoot?" he stammered. "Are you all right?"
Sirius snickered weakly, but his stomach muscles hurt, and he sat down on the floor again. "Never better," he gasped, unable to get the silly grin off his face. "Never better. It really is you. Oh, Jamesie, you've no idea how all right I am."
James continued to look worried. "You're sure? Do you want me to call somebody? No, don't try to get up. Just sit still and catch your breath. Are you sure you feel normal again?"
Sirius fought off a fresh wave of laughter as realization hit him. James thought he was off his rocker – crazy from too much time spent around dementers. "I'm perfectly all right, Prongs. I'm not mad. Just happy." He scrambled up before James could protest, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. When he let go and shoved James back to view him at arms-length (he had felt terribly thin), James was smiling a trifle sheepishly.
"Sorry, Sirius. I guess I forgot it must be rather, er, strange for you, what with me being, y'know, dead for fourteen years."
"Nothing's ever been stranger," Sirius agreed fervently, and perched on the foot of the bed. Dumbledore really should have provided some chairs. "Speaking of which – James, why are you alive? Harry didn't give us a very clear story, and, well, the Headmaster and some of the others are of the opinion that there's something fishy about this whole business."
James scooted back, leaning against the headboard and drawing his legs up to give Sirius more room. He squinted at the palms of his hands before answering the question. "Well, I didn't die, actually," he said slowly, still looking at his hands. "I wasn't dead all this time."
"You looked dead to me," Sirius said, suppressing a shiver. "Dead and cold. I tried everything I could think of to revive you –"
At that, James looked up, curiosity on his face. "You were there that night? You came to Godric's Hollow?"
"Oh, yes," Sirius said moodily. He looked away suddenly. "Too late."
"Tell me about it," James said softly, and Sirius glanced back at him, surprised. What was this all about? James wanted to be told about his own death? The worst night in Sirius's whole bloody life? "Harry," James clarified eagerly. "He didn't say much about it. You must know, if you were there. How did Harry – why is he still here? That scar – is it true that the Killing Curse was cast on him?"
Sirius nodded. It made sense now. "Yes. Nobody really knows what happened for sure, since Harry was too young to remember and … well, there weren't any other eyewitnesses …" He paused, frowning. "You don't know what happened? But you were there."
"Not by then."
James's face pulled tight, as if with pain, and his eyes went blank
briefly. "Not any more."
"Oh." Sirius remembered how the bodies
had lain – James's in the hall, by the shattered
kitchen door, Lily's in the parlor by the back door as if she had been trying
to get out. Of course. James must have been … disposed of … before Voldemort went after Lily and Harry. "I don't know, James, I really don't. When I got there, Hagrid
was already there, and he had Harry in his arms – Harry was crying, and there
was that cut on his forehead, bleeding … and you and Lily …" He stopped, suddenly anxious. James had his eyes squeezed shut, and was
rocking back and forth slightly as if in pain.
"Lily," he whispered faintly, and Sirius swallowed guiltily. He probably should try not to mention her. After all, James had probably only just found out she was dead, and he'd been talking pretty wildly about her a moment ago … wait. Hadn't James and Lily Potter been buried in the same tomb? In the same coffin?
Oh.
Well, that might be one explanation for James's mad talk of rotting corpses.
Sirius grimaced, suddenly nauseous. Even remembering Lily as a pale, startled corpse, staring up at the sky with an anguish-filled face, was better than thinking of her as a … skeleton.
Without eyes.
"I asked Hagrid if I could have Harry," he said aloud, speaking quickly to ward off the nightmarish mental images. "He said Dumbledore said he had to take Harry somewhere else, so I gave him my motorcycle and went after Peter. I didn't get any explanation of why Harry was alive then. I know, now, that apparently Voldemort cast the killing curse at Harry, and it … bounced off, leaving that scar he's got now. It hit Voldemort – we think – and that made him just vanish. He was gone for years and years, but Pettigrew, curse him, did some kind of ritual to bring him back. Voldemort, I mean. So that's why he's back now. But I think he's afraid of Harry. Dumbledore seems to think that Harry has some kind of power against him. I don't know any more than that, really. You can ask the headmaster next time you see him. That's about it. So, er, can you … Do you want to talk about it?" he finished lamely.
Skies above, I sound like a let's-get-all-emotive teenage girl. "Awww, d'you want to talk about it? D'you want to cry on my shoulder? There, there…" Blech.
James looked calm again, if rather pale. "Talk about what?" he asked.
"About … you know …" Sirius gesticulated vaguely. "How you're here, instead of … not here."
"Not really," James muttered, plucking at the corner of a fluffy white pillow. "It isn't a pleasant memory." He looked at Sirius questioningly, then sighed. "Fine. It's not a very long story, anyway." His eyes slid away, focusing intently on the center of the pillow – though the spot did not look particularly interesting from Sirius's angle. Just boring white cloth.
"An alarm went off," James said slowly, dragging each word out as if it hurt. "And we knew the wards were down. I told Lily … I told her to take Harry and go. I didn't know that he … that Voldemort had changed the wards so she couldn't get out. I went out into the hall just as he, Voldemort, blew the door in. We dueled. That is to say, he completely and utterly beat me. I used to think I was pretty good at dueling," he said drearily, still studying the invisible image on the pillow. "Well, I was wrong. He was so much better that it wasn't even funny. Well, he thought it was funny, but I didn't. He beat me, and then, when I could hardly stand up any more, he took time out to taunt me. My wands were both gone by that time. He petrified me. Then he said he had a better punishment in store for me than just death. He said it was some dark spell he had perfected which would make me seem dead, but really my mind would still be alive, in some place he called the netherworld. He said my mind would be … linked to him. So that he could call me back whenever he wished, back to my body." James paused and shrugged, still not looking at Sirius.
"So he cast it. And then I guess he was hit by the reflected killing curse. And then, when he was brought back, I came too. I don't think he expected that. I don't think he knew quite as much as he thought he did about how that spell worked. I came back, and he didn't know about it right away. When he did, I suppose he sent some of his Death Eaters out to catch me." Again, James paused, as if trying to remember, before going on in a flat, emotionless voice. "I was running in the woods as Prongs. I thought Harry and Lily were both dead … I don't think I was quite in my right mind. I'm not sure how they caught me, but I woke up in Peter's house. Peter told me Harry was alive and sent me to where Harry was living. I didn't know that the shirt he'd given me was a portkey. When Harry touched my arm, it transported us both to Voldemort. Harry probably told you the rest." He transferred his eyes from the pillow to an equally interesting spot on one corner of the bedspread. "We got away. Are you sure Harry is all right?"
"Yes, I'm sure that Harry's burns healed quite well," Sirius assured him. "He was not as badly hurt as you were, actually." Then Sirius firmly turned the conversation back toward its original heading. "What did Voldemort want with you and Harry? I mean to say – why didn't he just kill Harry?"
James looked up, a thoughtful expression flitting back over his face. "I don't know – I wish I did. It is very strange – if he wanted Harry dead, he had a perfect opportunity to do it there. All I can think of is that maybe he was afraid any curse he cast on Harry would be reflected back onto himself again. Do you think that's a possibility?"
Slowly, Sirius nodded. "Perhaps. You'd have to ask Dumbledore. But it seems possible." Incongruously, he grinned again. It had been years, probably, since he'd felt so bloody happy. His last suspicion had just been laid to rest – if James was really some trick of Voldemort's, he would certainly have had a glib explanation for Voldemort's seeming clemency.
The smile slid off his face when he looked back at James. The stupid git was staring down with an incredibly unhappy expression on his face. "All right, James?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for sticking his paw in his mouth. Oh, of course he's bloody fine, Sirius. After all, he's only just come back from the dead, and just lost his wife … a little while ago, for him.
And that thought brought up another, and Sirius blurted out, "If you weren't dead, where've you been all these fourteen years? Harry said –"
James winced visibly, his skin turning a sickly shade of white. Sirius gave himself another mental kick, a harder one. Looks like Azkaban didn't do as much for my sense of tact as I thought it did. Just like the good old days – I only open my mouth to change whichever foot was in it before …
"I won't talk about that," James said hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll make you a deal, Sirius – you don't ask me about that, and I won't ask you about Azkaban."
"Deal," Sirius said swiftly. No need for deliberation there. Desperately, he cast about for a change of subject. "So …" he finally said, "ah … did Harry tell you that he's the Gryffindor Seeker?"
James opened his eyes, and Sirius relaxed. Ah, maybe my tact isn't as utterly gone as I thought. "He said a little about it." James leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me about it – has Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup? How long has he been Seeker? Is he – you know – really, really good?"
Thank God for Quidditch. Sirius happily launched into Remus's oft-heard recounting of Harry's third year and his mighty victories – only to be brought up with a jerk when James frowned and asked, "Why were there dementers on Hogwarts grounds?"
"Oh … ah …" Sirius blinked, startled. "Well, because I – they were … the Ministry – I'd just escaped, and –"
"Escaped," James said flatly, his eyes hardening in anger. "You mean after twelve years, you had to escape to get out of Azkaban? What did they do, lock you up for life?"
"Yes, actually." Sirius shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "But I slipped out in dog-form one night, swam to shore, made my way to Hogwarts … long, boring story."
James was muttering indistinctly, choked up with anger. Sirius scowled at him, suddenly frustrated. "Give it a rest, Prongs! They thought I'd done it, and if I had done it, I'd have deserved worse than life! I just wish they'd let me finish off Wormtail first …"
James gaped at him, before managing a startled, "You're nutters, Sirius!"
The door banged open, and a rush of the dungeon's cool, dank air swarmed into the room. "My sentiments exactly," a cold, sneering voice said, and Sirius leapt up, spinning around with his wand in his hand.
Severus Snape stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, and Headmaster Dumbledore was peering over his shoulder with an expression of mild reproof.
Sirius bit back a curse word.
"Snape?" James whispered in unfeigned disbelief, leaning around the bed curtains to get a better look. "Severus Snape?" A pause, and then, in wondering awe, "And here I thought you were an ugly git when you were a teenager!"
Sirius sighed aloud. This is not an auspicious beginning.
END OF CHAPTER TWELVE
~~~~~~~~~
Responses to reviews:
Shei: It's definitely spelt Dementer in the books I've got. Kill Harry??? What kind of a Harry Potter fan are you? ;^) Hmm … as far as angst goes, you're right – from James's perspective, losing Harry would be the worst thing ever … it would certainly push him over the edge … oops, forget I said that. Sirius wouldn't like it either, I suppose… Anyway, thanks for your review: I enjoyed it!
Tarren: Thank you! I'm so happy you think it's believable … wait! You cried? Oh, my … you have no idea how touched I am that my writing was good enough to actually be sad. :^) Wow, what a lot of compliments! No, I don't have a beta reader – don't really have time to coordinate things that much. Yep, Ron and Hermione will soon come back into the picture … iiiiin Chapter Fifteen. I think.
Tarawyn: Wow! What a long, incredible, wonderful review! I loved your comments about Peter – that's exactly how I view him. The heir? Voldemort's referring to himself on that one … seems like the type of guy who might refer to himself in third person once in a while. Ah, the basilisk. That was foreshadowing, so to speak – Voldemort does not know about its death yet, but he remembers its existence, and he has plans. Big plans. Yes, Snape's not thinking straight yet. He's a little emotionally unbalanced, what with the whole Voldemort-is-back-and-I'm-a-bloody-spy-again thing. From what I've read, it seems he deals with stress by becoming very nasty, angry, and bitter. Thanks so much for the review!
Kaydee: Oh, yeah, I so wanted to be a philologist … I'm now studying Latin and taking a course about Anglo-Saxon literature … *blissful sigh.* But I think I'm going to be a computer programmer. :D Oh, hey, you loved The Hobbit? Cool! I was just reading Beowulf today (Anglo-Saxon epic), and I discovered where Tolkien got the whole Smaug thing; he loved the whole Anglo-Saxon deal. Heck, I even found names from Lord of the Rings in Beowulf! Ah, OK, sorry about that. I like to rant. Now, to actually respond to your review: Aw, thank you! I sat here and grinned like an idiot while reading your specific comments. Eeyep, made 'em all up myself – I'm weird about writing metaphors and stuff. :D Oh, I'm so glad you like the POV thing. I really enjoy it myself – it helps me flesh out the characters. I don't know about doing Voldemort: it would be so incredibly difficult. Not being particularly anxious to conquer the world myself, it'd be rough to realistically write about someone whose one desire was to do just that. But I'm thinking about it. I kind of feel like I should, since he's so important to the story, and since there's more to him than I-Am-an-Evil-Overlord-Hear-Me-Cast-Avada-Kedavra. Maybe one of the last chapters, like one where someone important dies … or maybe during some Voldemort-James bonding moment. Heh heh heh. Glad you liked the Snape part. It was fun to write. But snakes are so CUTE! Those adorable wedge-shaped heads … those flickering forked tongues … those jewel-like eyes … that glistening scaly skin … All right. In response to your questions: You're right! We know nothing about Hermione! 'Cept that her boggart was flunking out, as Jeva said. Moving right along: yeah. The Mirror is most likely going to make an appearance in my story. And that idea you propounded would be a cool story.
Giesbrecht: Thanks! I guess the chapters seem really short because hardly anything happens in them … but I've seen so many stories on this site that have chapters which are each about 500 words long. Ergh. That's just ridiculously short.
Jeva: Quick! Where is this site with more fics? Tell me! Tell me now! I must read them! Oh, yeah, Dumbly-dorr is in possession of a clue … but unfortunately he knows too much about one side of the problem, and too little about the other. Hence his confusion. But that's for the next chapter. Yes, Remus is … sad. I'm very attached to Remus. In the sense of: I hope I don't have to kill him off, because the poor guy has *enough* trouble without *dying* too. How would I imagine James dying again? Oh, I dunno … jumping in front of a killing curse aimed at Harry, maybe … :^D Oh, YEAH! You're reading Draco Sinister? That's the BEST fanfic EVER! I love that story sooo much … Did you read Draco Dormiens too? I go check schnoogle.com every day to see if Cassie Claire has updated Draco Veritas … yes, I'm addicted. It's pathetic. Hey … you can feel sorry for Wormtail if you want to. Really. I mean, everybody feels sorry for Snape (well, 76% of fans, anyway), and he made Harry's life miserable, so why not Peter? OK, this has gotten rather long, so – thanks so much for the review! (And, wow, you really understand the prophecy well! You explained it better than I could have. :D)
SummerRose: Thanks! Er, I hope you're not still sitting at your computer … I'm sorry, really I am.
Redfeather: It's okay … I wasn't planning on a James/Snape friendship. Though I've actually never once come across a fic of that type. They may come around to being able to work with each other (with snarlings and glarings and cursings of the highest degree), but they're not going to get all "Oh, Sev! I've misjudged you! I'm so sorry for how mean I was to you in school … give us a hug, man!" Thanks for the compliments!
Ariana Deralte: Thank you! Ah, 'fraid it'll be a while before the Potters=Riddles fact comes to light. Sorry!
Purple People Eater: Thank you! Hope this chapter satisfied your James-craving. :D
Mejika: Thank you! I'm really glad you're enjoying it.
Starseeker: Whoa … compliment overload. :D Thanks so much – comments like that make me very happy. And eager to write more.
Lily Lupin: Um … can't wait for Padfoot & Prongs to come out? Er … this is not a slash fic … uh … OK, maybe I misread that. Thanks for the review!
Ashley: Thank you!
Kitana: Ah ha ha, no, no published works. I'm just a college-student-amateur who loves to write more than anything else in the whole wide world … unless it's to read. I guess I learned how to write by reading way too much. Wow … I'm really thrilled that you liked this chapter so much. And that you noticed the naming change! I think you're one of the only people who picked up on that – congratulations! And I'm glad you pity Wormtail at least a little. Personally, I loathe him with a passion, but I also feel extremely sorry for him (paradoxical, I know). But then, I'm one of the people who got angry at Sam for being mean to Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, so I'm just strange. Glad you thought Lucius had personality! And, yes, I really enjoyed writing Snape's POV. Ah, thanks for pointing out the typo. I'll try to find time to fix it. Someday. As you may guess, the muse deserted me quite thoroughly throughout the month of August, causing this chapter to be sickeningly late. Sorry! Yep … if Voldemort discovers that Snape is a spy, all hell will break lose. How long is how long? Wait and see. : ) Slytherins aren't boy scouts! They're just prepared. And Gryffindors aren't boy scouts either … but it's solely because they aren't prepared…
Rowan: Hi! I'm really happy you decided to review. I love my reviewers … love them … I'll try to check out your story sometime. When I have time. Which I don't right now. And HEY! No Bush-bashing, please! I happen to be an avid Republican … OK, sorry about that. I don't mind you guys chatting, really. It's fun to read. Um, hope the suspense didn't kill you, BTW. Review and let me know you're still alive!
Mallory: Thanks!
Prophetess: Only almost? Drat. My work is not yet done. :D You will love the Death Eaters … Thanks for reviewing!
Peacockgirl: Thank you!
Jadeite: The key word in there is *further.* I know it's a little confusing, but it's mean tot be ambiguous and rather weird. "Purifying" the bloodline simply means avoiding further alliances with Muggles … and Mudbloods do have Muggle blood, so while Lily wasn't quite as bad as a common Muggle, she's still bad enough in Voldemort's eyes. Um, yeah, Jeva's review answered your question better than I did, actually. And thank you for the compliments!
Chrysta: Thank you so much! Really sorry to have taken so long with this chapter. And you don't know how thrilled I am to hear a discerning reader say my plot is plausible. That makes my day. Ah, yes, Harry and James are indeed in deep … wool. (Sorry, rabbit &~v~Jinx~v~ joke). As for the spell – Malfoy was on the right track, but missing one vital piece of information. The shielding spell can also be cast on close family members. Hence Voldemort's ability to use it on James. Yes, there's a possibility that Dumbledore & co. could take the Potters=Riddles fact quite well … and there's also the possibility that they might not. Considering how the majority of Hogwartsians viewed Harry after they found out he was a Parselmouth, Harry can easily assume that most of the wizarding world will hate and fear him if they find out that YKW is his paternal grandfather. And James … well, so many of his friends lost family & friends to Voldemort that there is no way on earth he'll ever come out and say, "Oh, by the way, you know those parents of yours? My father killed 'em." Oh, I'm so glad you approved of the last chapter. And you're right – Sirius just has to really believe it to … er … believe it, while Remus would have to be shown the proof. Thank you!
Kranberries: Oh, c'mon, you know you love the cliffhangers. Thanks for the review!
Vanessa: Thank you!
Kay: Thanks!
Hugh McDougal: Thank you! Your website looks really cool; I'll submit this fic when I finish it, if you like.
Cellie: Oh, thanks! I'm so glad you enjoyed this chapter. Peter the house-elf … oh, yeah. That's him, all right. A small, cowardly, evil house-elf. Well, you can see I didn't take a month this time. I took TWO months! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah, yes, you are right. The blood-relative version of the spell *was* the one Voldemort used.
RavenLady: Thank you! I'm sure JKR is going to let Snape live … he's too important a character to kill off.
Tatum: I think you're right … where did I have Harry say 'golly'? I may have to change it. Thanks for the review!
Elektra: Welcome, and thanks so much! I'm delighted you loved the fic. Oh, you think I'm evil. I – I – I think my feelings are badly hurt! I doooon't want to write any more because you hate my beautiful plot twists! Waaah! Seriously, though, I'm delighted you like the plot. Hmm, there are a few other agendas around. I think. I'd have to check my notes again to remember who has which agenda, of course, but, hey … Outside interference? Maybe, maybe not. And, you know, you're right about the basilisk and the diary. Malfoy was Not Supposed to Get the Basilisk Killed. So glad you like the characterization! I work very hard on it. Ah … Voldemort POV? That remains to be seen. I may be able to do it, but then again I may not. "Juxtaposition between malevolence and childishness…" Hey, that's great! Very impressive … I like it! James's personality and Voldemort's wand? Well, I wrote out a length explanation for that, which probably won't actually make it into the story, but the simple explanation is that a shadow (echo?) can be created by any spell, not just Avada Kedavra. After all, Wormtail's hand flew out of the wand. The spell Voldemort cast on James was extremely powerful, and it basically did shut his body down, and separate his mind from his body. Therefore (as I see it), his 'personality' could well have gotten into Voldemort's wand. Well, Ididn't explain that very well, but I'm in a hurry so I'll leave it at that. Delighted you like Harry! Not being a fifteen-year-old boy myself, I'm having to study my brothers to get at what he's like. Hope it's working. Possibility of redemption for Peter? Oh, definitely. Personally, I thought I saw some foreshadowing of that in the books … though it may just be over-analysis. I'm delighted you approve of Snape's POV! Thanks again!
Angelwriter14: Um … OK … here! Don't die! Read the chapter! Quick!
That's all, folks! (Apologies to anyone I missed, and a closing all-around "Thank you – review again!")